Schmuck!!!

Kindergarten was trying to teach us something.

I began working on this column with the intention of expanding on the comment I made at the end of last week’s column. But it’s been difficult, as writing about the incident still brings bad memories. It’s about Men’s Wearhouse losing a large lawsuit we never should have lost.

Maybe next week.

So, rather than writing and being easily distracted, I began to read Ezekiel Emanuel’s new book, Eat Your Ice Cream: Six Simple Rules for a Long and Healthy Life. If you’re not familiar with Ezekiel, or his brothers—Rahm and Ari—they’re worth checking out. Amazing and accomplished siblings. I would have loved to be a fly on the wall at the dinner table when they were kids.

Breezing through the table of contents, I noticed the first chapter was titled “Don’t Be a Schmuck.” That certainly got my attention. But I soon realized Emauel was referring to unhealthy habits, like cigarettes and too much alcohol. Good advice, especially from a doctor. But not where I thought he was going.

Ezekiel (since I bought the book, I’m allowing myself first‑name privileges) was talking about health. I’m talking about how we treat people.

There’s a difference between being an idiot and being a schmuck. At the quarter point in the 21st century, with all the medical data at your disposal, if you’re still smoking and/or abusing alcohol, you’re an idiot. And if I’ve offended you, tough nuggies. I’ve been there, and I was an idiot. I’m now a reformed idiot.

Back to the “schmuck” reference, I want to steal and expand on Ezekiel’s Six Simple Rules. I’m adding a seventh.

The seventh remains: Don’t be a schmuck. Just not in the way he meant it. I’m thinking, as in how you live your life.

This isn’t meant to be a bullet‑point sermon. Think of it as a series of familiar patterns.

Schmuckery rarely announces itself. It shows up when we’re tired, pressed for time, and positive we know better.

• You’re walking down the street and you see a homeless person.
  What are you going to do? Keep walking and pretend the person doesn’t exist? Explain away not giving a dollar or two to the person because you figure it’s going to be spent on drugs or alcohol? Don’t be a schmuck. Look the person in the eye, remember “There but by fortune go you or I”* Give them either money, food, or both.

• You’re doomscrolling and note in your travels something someone said in a post that pissed you off.
  So you unload. On someone you don’t even know and will never meet. Don’t be a schmuck. Does unloading really help? Does the brief adrenaline rush help? Or does it leave you stressed, waiting in the bushes for your next ambush?

• You’re having a conversation with the committee in your head about a person who was in your life who is no longer there because of a rift in the relationship.
  Life is short, people change. Including you. Don’t be a schmuck. Regret is tough and life should and can be about having as few regrets as possible. I once wrote about how quickly time slips away—How Long Is Your Leg?—and this is one of those moments. “I’m sorry” are two of the hardest words in our language. And the most impactful. Don’t be afraid to use them.

• You’re having a real, face-to-face conversation with someone.
  You’re asking questions, having genuine dialogue. Good on you! Your phone buzzes. A text. Don’t be a schmuck. You’re not Pavlov’s dog—you don’t have to look at your phone the minute it buzzes. Better yet, if you’re having a conversation, don’t even have your phone within eyesight.

• You’re having lunch and get the bill.
  Let’s say it looks like this: $20 for food, $1.60 in taxes. Total $21.60. How much tip do you leave? $3.20? (An old rule of thumb was 2x the tax.) Don’t be a schmuck. Leave a 20% tip on the total, and round up, making the tip $5. The $1.80 difference to you is meaningless. The $1.80 difference to your server, multiplied by several customers over time, can be significant and quality-of-life-enhancing. If you’ve never waited tables (I have), you don’t know how stressful it can be. The server doesn’t control the kitchen—from a timing or quality control perspective. Give the person some leeway, please.

• You’re watching someone make a choice you wouldn’t make.
  Doesn’t matter the situation—parenting, spending money, handling a problem differently. You judge and have an opinion. Don’t be a schmuck. Anyone can judge. Charity requires effort. Do you really know their life, their context, their reasons for doing anything? The answer is no. You never do. And if you do feel the need to judge, save it for later—and keep it on the lowdown.

• You’re at a coffee shop, finishing up grocery shopping, or trying on clothing at the nearest Men’s Wearhouse.
  Your cup? Your cart? The clothing? Guess what, pal–your mother isn’t here. Don’t be a schmuck. Pick up after yourself. Pick up your mess, return the cart, and don’t leave the clothing in a pile in the dressing room. The someone else who has to pick up after you is a human being, and while they might have signed up to help with your purchase, they didn’t sign up to pick up after you.

I could go on, but I hope you get the point. Yes, these are all small things. Small things add up and the sum is who you are as a person in this world. And the world mirrors back what you present to it.

And yes, Curmudg spends a lot of time harping on this sort of thing. I warned you in the first column.

Forty years ago, the American minister Robert Fulghum wrote a wonderful and impactful book, All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten. It couldn’t be more timely. Play fair. Share. Pick up after yourself. Don’t hit.

If he weren’t a minister, he might have saved himself a lot of pages and simply said, Don’t be a schmuck.

*Phil Ochs and Joan Baez, from the olden days…

TL;DR: We spend a lot of time debating values and very little time practicing them.

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